fite fuaite
by OTPhilia
Summary: A link exists between them. Even on they're on their mother's womb; two souls and a one heart. A link did exist, both innocent and dangerous. He knows nothing good will comes out of it. But the sweet taste of her lips made him forget their sins together. Set in before the movie. M for a reason. (Nuacest)
1. Chapter (Prologue)

Prologue

* * *

The evening air whisks past the stony hall of old age and into the open doors of the vacant rooms. The servants paid no attention of the said doors as they are walking in a fast pace and a few commands has been shouted in the wind. A stable boy who was reequipping the horses' saddles, had thought of steaming potato soup awaiting him in his home, and looks at the window— far beneath the sky is the moon, full and shining its glory.

King Balor of Bethmoora, was seen pacing to and fro with his right hand on his back. Anxiousness was written all over his face. He was terribly cold, his coat cannot hide him from the unmerciful bitterness, and the situation tonight did not help ease his mind. Gilkrim has told him, many times, which he must be calm. The Elven King did not mind him, he would have responded that he too had been like this and even worse, passed out, but decided to ignore the blasted man and continues to his pacing and the worries did not go away. And her cries did not make him feel well.

 _"Balor!"_ Not at all.

He could only stare at the large door and contemplates to wreck it. He could not do it as he was useless inside there if he did. He could only wait.

"Would you look at that, Your Grace?" He heard Gilkrim's astonished voice, and he looked at the way his pointing as a means to distract himself.

"A full moon."

Indeed it is, vibrant and lovely. The King stops in his tracks and sensed the overpowering feeling in his gut. The imagery before him somehow calmed him, yet a foreboding awareness has set his body stiffen as he does not notice the cries of his beloved becoming louder and louder...

Then it stopped.

* * *

"This is not good."

"How so?"

"The blood circle has arises!" The shrill voice gave a shudder, "It is an omen, Jinnin, a bad one." The old woman covered her non-blind eye with her right hand. The horror in her face did not leave, "Chaos is soon upon us."

* * *

King Balor of Bethmoora ordered everyone, except for the midwife, to leave the room. His voice loud and sad. His eyes fixed on his lady wife's form —even in death, she is still beautiful. He gently caresses the smooth surface that was her cheeks now turned to sumptuous stone. The room gave out a damp atmosphere and King Balor had felt the wind no more. His lady wife must've endured the heat and pain.

"She did splendidly, Your Highness, and it is not a light matter to give birth to babes. She was strong." The midwife said and as he looks at her, she nodded her head as if to answer the unspeakable question, "Twins. Their hands were intertwined together when they were born, Your Highness." And indeed they were. The King had seen it, their tiny hands were linked together as if they didn't want to be separated, the midwife had gently pulled them and thus only the babes cried. She set them on the crib and laid them together, the wailing stops.

The King's eyes gave a grave meaning, his eyes on the window— to the moon, "I shall give you the authority to care for them and supervise them at all time."

The old midwife nodded her head and curtsies, but deep down she knows the hidden intention, _it cannot be prevented_ , she knows of it.

 _The bond will only grow stronger_.

* * *

The young elf had stepped outside the stable when he breathed the cold air. Only then he set his eyes above to where the fluorescence is.

His body stood rigid at the sight.

The full moon's light has changed. The pure flare was absolutely different, and in its place illuminated a red glow. A somber appearance that is both beautiful and hostile-looking. He remembered what his old mama had told him when he was but a youngling.

The young elf shivered at the memory of the story and went to his home, where his bowl of potato soup lays on the table.


	2. Chapter 1

Nascence

* * *

"The innocent must not suffer."  
― Agatha Christie, And Then There Were None

* * *

She have had seen blessedness from the eyes of the elven folks and the people alike; the same glint in their eyes as they took delight in what-ever give them pleasure, a simple happiness, and laughter echoing around mirthful souls as they dance and sing and give praise to the spirits.

Happiness is when a mother sees her child for the first time; a warrior returning home from the barbarity of war; lovers joining in matrimony and of course, a blooming flower after the harsh winter. They are, after all, the onset of vestal bliss given from the gods.

And she have had seen tragedies too.

Tragedies made by the same kind. Sprouted by anger and fear, that would lead to destruction and suffering. Blood of different kinds horribly decorating the green grass and pure flowers, no water nor rain can clean the dark taint. She did not understand how they could create bliss and sorrow altogether— _it is foolish_ , she knows.

She'd witnessed a family feud, blood feud, and it led to murder and disownment; two lovers that are bound to end their life so shortly; and a friend who betrayed his companion for gold. The same actions of different kind would be their ending. A bitter and tragic ending...

Tragedy is, somehow, the root of malevolence. And violence would always be its lover.

"Was it a nightmare again?" She asks, kneeling down to face the shivering youngling.

The molten pearl that is her hair bounced as the youngling nodded her little head, "Yes. Everything is red and- _and_ scary yellow eyes open...!" She said between sniffs and ragged breathing.

"My sweetling, it is but a nightmare and nightmares could not harm you."

The youngling gently shook her head as she trustingly relied on the woman's words. Then sometime later, the sniffles are receding and the eyes became droopy. The woman have sung a melody, a lullaby of a very long time ago, a sweet sound to lull the frightened little child back to her sleep where no more nightmares comes creeping back. _But not forever_. It was the child's fourteenth nightmare. She knows for she marks the long nights on her mind like a prisoner counts his last day inside his carceral, with only a stone in his hand and a wall, waiting, and counting, until his execution.

The soft breathing of the youngling sprouted relief on her being. It was time to go. Her bare feet feeling the delicate rug as she swiftly walked. Just as she was about to close the door— a swish of something could be heard. It was a sound that is pleasing to hear, she knew all too well to where it came from, and whom.

"What-ever are you here for, little lord?"

The one she was speaking to —straighten his posture, all dignified and yet so small, "I am not so little. Mind your words." she stiffens an incoming laugh and casts her head low as to amuse him and herself.

"Certainly, my lord, forgive me."

He nodded curtly, eyes looking pointedly at the door she came from. "Is she alright?" His tone was gentler now, dripping with pure concern.

"She's fine now, a n—"

"Nightmare." He finishes. His eyes cast down a glimmer, but not of light. He looked somber and older than he should be. "I heard her screaming."

The woman kept her eyes on the proud youngling and smiled, "There is no more nightmares, Your Highness, for you will chase them away." The youngling brightened up and nodded his little head— his hair bouncing and he proudly straightened his back furthermore. "Scurry to bed now, my lord, you have lessons thereafter. Perhaps I could bring the princess along, what do you say?"

The youngling, indeed, went away as his weighty footsteps reverberated through the castle's wall. A sound of a door closing made the woman shake her head and smile for a while. Then frowns...

 _Tragedies_. Yes, she'd have seen tragedies all her life. Happiness and Tragedies are separate beings of nature. Somehow contradicting, and yet, under the same roots. One cannot live without tasting the two.

And now, she's seeing tragedy, from an innocent child dreaming of chaos, that no child should ever dream, and a start of a suture that should never begin.

She nodded to the guards, who are dutifully stagnant surrounding the giant door, and they let her out without a word, the only sound to the silent atmosphere was the opening and closing of the door. The grass was wet and it send shivers down her spine, she let the hem of her gown touched the land and as she walked the earth, she could not stop the nausea forming on her head, an indication of something terrible is soon to happen.

* * *

"I will not!"

"But, Your—"

"My father will hear about this!"

The sound of an opening of a door came; the young prince did not look at the newcomer and instead, fixed his irate eyes at the one who seemed to have wronged him.

The tutor, however, bowed his head in recognition of the sudden visitors, "Lady Var, and of course, Her Highness." Upon saying this, the prince glanced behind, rather swiftly.

"Brother!" The young girl happily chirped, whereas, the boy beamed, forgetting he was furious at the tutor. The princess skipped to him, ashen-golden hair swaying to her rhythm and tiny hands clutching his.

"As promised." The lady bowed at the young boy, a gentle smile on her face. "Why don't you and the princess go outside? It is a lovely day, indeed, and I am sure the King would not mind."

The young prince and princess simultaneously looked at each other and ran to the door, laughing all the way, while holding each other's hand.

"But do be careful now!" Lady Var added, shaking her head. She turned to the tutor, "What has tempered the prince, this time?" She asked, amusement dancing in her eyes as the grand tutor looked at her the same and grinned.

"He does not want to learn about King Crivhen the Wise, instead he demanded for King Ordinius the Mighty."

* * *

The sun was at its peak, but not unkind. The soft breeze calmly greeted their flesh as the scent of the ground and flowers drifted on the air, filling their lungs. The two have been trudging the smooth path, hand in hand, both eyes in bewilderment. The garden is indeed beautiful and vast, arrays of different flowers bloom on the ground; they have not seen a spot where there are no flowers. The prince and princess drank the beauty of nature from their eyes, thinking of the land they're part of. Their feet had carried them into the expanse clearing of the trees aligned in a straight line, casting a shadow over their little figures. And soon, they came upon a spot where a humongous tree stood, proud and smelt so good. _A lemon tree!_

The young girl stopped, abruptly, that it caused the boy to stop too. She gave him a toothy grin, and sat on the ground. She hiked up her dress, stretching out her legs and began to untie the laces of her shoes.

He looked at her, aghast. "What are you doing, Nuala?"

"Lady Var said that one can feel the Mother if one is barefooted." The girl replied, putting down her shoes beside her before standing up, and clutched the hem of her dress. She set her left foot first, then right, feeling the moist grass tickle her feet. She laughed before sprinting to the center.

The young boy, however, looked at his spirited sister, in awe.

"Come, brother, feel her with me!" She shouted and stopped her joviality, smiling up to him. He grinned at her and kicked off his shoes, not bothering to adjust them, and he started to run off to her, making her squeal in delight.

They chased each other in circles, laughing, and without a care in the world. Their merry voices would blend in the air of nature and the grand lemon tree stood above them, witnessing such happiness of young elves. From an outsiders' point of view, it assuredly looks a perfect picture of childhood. So sweet and perfectly innocent.


	3. Chapter 2

Sumer.

* * *

"Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well."

― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

* * *

The halls of the palace would be filled with their giggling mirth when the two younglings are together. They would clasp each other's' hand, tightly, as if neither one of them would let go. When Princess Nuala would drag her brother to her quaint tea party, the young prince would snort and huff in disapproval, even so, he would never deny his sweet sister's request nor take his hands away from hers. She would clung to him, and he would clung back, and for them it is all that matter in the world, surrounded in each other's company.

Of course, the two would never be alone, Lady Var would always trail behind them with a smile etched on her face as she listened to the two talk about childish things such as lemon trees, sword fight (mostly from Nuada), lessons, the colorful bird they'd seen yesterday, and the human stories of dashing knights and waiting princesses on towers that Lady Var would tell them.

Today, the two royal siblings are seated on the flowerbeds without their shoes—Nuala's persistence— after a tiring round of running around the lemon tree.

"Aren't they pretty, brother?"

Now they're talking about the blossoming of the roses, as they waited to see the closed flowers, for seemingly the entire day, Nuada would complain, but it was Little Nuala's eyes that kept him from nagging to go back to the palace, his dreary façade faded when the blue roses sprang their beautiful bloom in slow, meticulous motion.

"Yes, sister." He answered.

Lady Var agreed, too, while leaning down to smell the hyacinth flowers beside her. Nuada grimaced upon seeing the end of her silver dress getting wet and sullied from the morning dew of the grasses and mud.

"Why not simply pick them up?" Nuada said, plucking a newly bloomed rose to explain his question.

" _Hmm_ ," Lady Var smiled down at them, "You see, my prince, you have to wait until they're fully bloomed. May I?" Nuada gave her the rose he had plucked, eyes fixed intensely on her to what the wise governess would say, "You have to give time for it to enjoy the glory of the sun's ray; the warmth of moonbeams; the sadness of the skies and even the harsh, unforgiving winters. You have to let it be admired by the sightseers, and let the little bees have their share of it. Let it grow.

It is indeed beautiful, doesn't it? But the moment you pluck it from its roots, it ceased to live, to grow, it would only look beautiful but it's already...gone, and slowly, it would wither away with the wind."

The young prince and princess took her words with a leisured nod, the latter clutched her hand to her chest where her heart is beating, "If we don't pluck it—them, would they stay like this? Would they live?" She asked, wide eyed.

"And if we let them, for a long time, their vibrancy would fade, the seasons would make them weary and old, their once proud heads would stoop low and time would change their colors, turning them to dull and lifeless." Lady Var smiled, although sad, "You see my prince and princess, time is irrelevant for us, but to them, to the animals, and to the humans; they treasure what time they've got, little they may be. And I think that's what makes them beautiful."

"Why?" The prince asked, intrigued.

"Someday you'll learn, my lord, and you will know." She then turned to the princess, "Why don't we come back here when these lovely blooms are ready? You can give them to your father and he will be pleased." The princess widely smiled, eyes rounding and agape that the prince laughed and she spoke to the flowers— that they're beautiful and she shall return to look after them and when the day would come, she would pluck them for everyone to see their gloriousness.

* * *

"I can!" The little princess insisted. She stood on her toes to appear bigger than him; she reached just beneath his nose.

He laughed, pushing her that she stumbled. The princess glared at her brother and ran after him.

Nuada was always quick, and she would be four steps behind. She doesn't like running or chasing after him, because she would eventually tire out, and he would win. She doesn't like it when he wins.

He constantly teases her.

Nuada was looking away from her that his back was facing her. His gaze was on the grand palace in sight. "I do not see father ever coming outside."

"He said he is protecting the kingdom- that he said, a king must be with his people."

"Father talks to you?" He sounded genuinely surprise.

"Sometimes, when I'm alone and Lady Var is gone, father comes to my bedroom and reads me stories."

"Stories are for babes."

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are."

Still not looking at her, Nuala pouts and looks at the lemon tree. It was tall, and she was small. Her tiny hands balled into a fist, _she can_ , she thought, _he'll see_.

Nuada may be faster, but Nuala has agile and can steal sweet tarts in the kitchen without the cook ever knowing. That is until Lady Var took notice of the smudge on her lips and Nuala told her of her mischievous success, and the beautiful lady told her that princesses do not steal even if it is desserts nor princesses crept on little holes.

Nuala held on to the bark of the tree and found her footing on some slanted parts. She dared not look down, if she does, she'll get scared and Nuada would win, _always_ , and tease her about it.

She was silent coming up to the tree, her nose filling up fresh scent from the lemons dangling on the branches. Nuala was careful of her footing, mindful to where she would put her hands, and skillfully never disturbing her brother's reverie.

Lady Var was walking with natural grace on the hallway. Some say she's a woodland fairy took form of an elf, others say she's a spirit of a beautiful queen of long and forgotten days. It was because of her immaculate radiance that elves would whisper behind her, but not unkind, for she was good and fair, and her smile would bring them to their knees.

* * *

Rarely she's seen frowning or displeased, and when a herald boy called out to her with a shaky and nervous voice, she gently smiled, and the boy seemed to melt, he adjusted himself and told her of the news. It may look like she's thinking, but a frown suddenly passed on her features, fleeting, but it was there, but the boy hadn't noticed. She thanked the herald and proceeds to her walk, deliberately slow, and she thinks of the prince and princess.

* * *

"Get down, Nuala!"

"Not until you say you are wrong!" She took a step on the branch, it sounded as if it creaked on her weight, although that wouldn't be a problem, Nuada would tease her how thin she was whenever she eats some sweets. The tree was, after all, ancient and she knows it is strong.

He hesitated then his eyes looked at her, she was above him, standing on a seemingly scant branch and holding on to the side of the tree. She was smiling at him with her toothy smile again, her ashen hair had some of leaves framing her face and for a moment he recalled of a story of a woodland nymph...how beautiful and spirited she was.

He opened his mouth and the words ceased to come out when her eyes suddenly widened and her body slightly shook—not from her movements.

 _Snap._

* * *

The chamberlain greeted her when she stood at the entrance; he grimaced when he took notice of her lack of shoes but didn't say anything. He nodded to the royal guards and they opened the large double doors. The air swept around her and the golden lights inside beckons her.

With light feet, she swayed with the wind and her gown looked as if it was made with the waves of the northern ocean.

Standing in front of him, in a dignified distance, she curtsied. "Your Majesty, you have requested me."

She eyed the room, for a moment, and saw not one faces of his councils but the king's only. The throne room gave a shuddering atmosphere to it, and Lady Var could almost feel the wind biting her cheeks. She instantly knew it was a matter of great importance and secrecy that the king himself deemed it necessary to dismiss his royal bodyguards.

The king looked at her, a small smile on his face before disappearing into a tight line, "How are they?"

"They are well, Your Majesty."

"You, of all elves, know what I am referring about, Lady Var."

Lady Var made a motion of her hands, hiding her uneasiness.

"Nothing that you, My King, should fret about."

"Hm, is that so?" The king in front of her looks as though he's remembering something of momentousness while he strokes his beard. "A companion of mine told me of a screaming child in the dead of the night. Every night." He said, a heavyset gloom shadowed his features, "And a little boy scurrying in those same nights, standing outside of a great door to where the screaming would be."

"Children have nightmares. They are easily prone to fears, you had them, surely, when you were an elfling, Your Majesty."

"Then let her have those dreams alone. Don't let the boy interfere."

 _But he's the one coming for her_ , she solemnly thought, "He hears her, Your Majesty, he told me himself. He is concern for her wellbeing just as a sibling should."

"You bond them together that much, that I know of."

"They are simply intertwined."

King Balor stood up, large and his black robes looked menacing. Hardened eyes stared back at her, "You shall move him to the farthest side of the palace. In the east wing. There shall be no more tea party nor put them together in the same room."

"But you cannot do that to them, Your Highness! They are only so young and they have centuries to count after them, _please_ ," she was momentarily cut off when a persistent knock came and the double doors opened.

The king sat down upon hearing the voice of the chamberlain echoing inside, "Your Excellency, the servant is here to inform you that—"

The king put a hand to his head, "I told you no one should disturb me at this time."

"But it's about the young highnesses."

* * *

She disdains trudging along the path of this side of the forest, knowing the branches would get into her dress. Her protesting body was aching and she muttered a cursed when she unwittingly stepped on a puddle.

The trees whispered to her, the sound of leaves and whooshing air, until she came upon a large lemon tree standing tall in the center.

And that's where she founds them; two bodies of fair-haired elfling children sprawled on the grass. They were close to each other, eyes shut, one who was laying on her back and the other on his side.

They looked as if they're slumbering peacefully under the shades of the sweet lemon tree.

That would be lovely if that be so, but upon closer inspection, a branch with a lemon or two was disturbingly near to the girl's body and her hair seemed to have summer leaves and in a disarray.

And the boy's too, coated with blood on the side of his head—just like the young girl.

* * *

King Balor stood at the middle of the two beds on his sides. A light of forlorn danced inside his eyes.

"It is happening," he muttered.

The woman who was the one, who brought the news and the children, nodded her head, slowly, "Aye."

"It must be done before it is too late for us to stop it."

The woman didn't say anything, instead focused her dimming eyes to the sleeping girl on the bed with a cast on her left arm, then to the boy with the same cast on the same side of his arm.

She silently curtsied at the king, leaving him to slump on the ground when she closed the door.

 _There is no stopping it, Your Great Highness._


End file.
